To Find You Again (12 page)

Emma gazed down at him, but could only see the top of his hat and his wide, competent hands covering her bare foot. His thumb brushed across the sensitive instep and her toes curled as pleasure raced through her veins.

Ridge abruptly released her and mounted his horse. He, too, had tied his moccasins together and draped them over his neck. After one quick look at Emma, Ridge kneed his horse down the sloped bank and toward the water. The animal balked and Ridge kicked the gelding's flanks. With a snort and toss of his head, Paint entered the cold mountain water.

Emma's hands trembled and her body tensed tighter than a bowstring. If she wanted to discover her son's fate, she had no choice but to follow. Emma used the end of her leather reins to lightly slap Clementine's rump and the mare leapt forward, only to stop sharply at the edge of the river.

Emma sailed over the mare's neck to splash into the river. The icy cold water shocked the air from her lungs, and she frantically scrambled to her hands and knees in the shallows. She gulped in air as her body trembled.

"Emma, you all right?"

She blinked the droplets from her eyelashes and focused on Ridge, who'd ridden back across the river. Her heart racing and her lungs screaming, she could only nod.

He dismounted, getting his own feet wet in the shallow water. "What happened?"

"Uh, Clementine balked. Stupid of me. Flew over her head," Emma managed to gasp out.

Ridge frowned as if he didn't believe her, but only held out his hand. She accepted it gratefully and he tugged her to her feet.

"Your shoes are gone," Ridge said.

Emma's hand went to her neck but there was nothing there. They were the only shoes she had. "They can't be far." She frantically searched for the boots, but couldn't spot them.

Ridge scowled. "The current must've caught them. C'mon." He helped her up the steep bank, to where Clementine stood calmly, as if she'd done nothing wrong.

The cold breeze struck Emma, ripping away more heat from her chilled body. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

Ridge released her and retrieved the blanket from her saddle. He wrapped it around her shoulders and picked her up.

"What're you doing?" Emma asked, struggling weakly to escape his arms.

"You might cut open your foot." Ridge carried her to a large rock where he eased her down. "I'll be right back."

When he rejoined her, he carried a second pair of moccasins. He knelt down and, with an economy of emotion, tugged the first deerskin boot, then the second, on her nearly numb feet.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"They're a mite big on you, but better than nothing. And since the river's not any deeper'n a couple feet, you won't get them wet."

"Are you sure?"

Ridge nodded. "I was all the way across when I looked back and seen you in the water."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's all right," he said gently.

Emma's nerves jangled, but the terror she'd felt only minutes earlier loosened its stranglehold with Ridge's soft-spoken words. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest. "I-I thought I was g-going to drown," she stammered.

"The water wasn't deep enough to drown in, but you did get soaked." He rubbed her back. "There's a shack only a mile or two from here where we can spend the night."

Emma nodded as she felt the first snowflake land on her cheek.

"Can you ride?" he asked.

"Yes."

Ridge helped her to her horse, then gave her a boost into the saddle. She settled uncomfortably on the cold seat, her wet clothes bunching around her legs and thighs.

"Here." Ridge held the reins up to her.

She accepted them and watched Ridge mount his black and white horse. He nudged the animal closer to her.

"Stay right behind me, Emma," Ridge said. "We'll cross slow and easy-like."

She closed her eyes momentarily against the renewed fear, but nodded gamely.

"Remember what I said. Stay close," he repeated.

Keeping her gaze on Ridge's back instead of the churning water, Emma followed him. Her heart sounded louder than the rushing water as she clung to the saddle-horn, her knuckles white. Her mare moved farther into the river. Goose bumps covered her skin and her teeth chattered, although Emma wasn't certain if it was from dread or the cold.

Ridge's horse scrambled up the opposite bank and out of the river. Clementine followed without prodding and Emma was once again on solid ground.

"Are you doing all right?" Ridge asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

She nodded, lightheaded with relief to have the crossing behind them. "Just c-cold."

"Well be at the shack in five or ten minutes."

"Thank heavens," she murmured.

By the time they arrived at the small cabin, Emma's teeth were chattering uncontrollably and she had little feeling in her fingers and toes. Although her mind was sluggish, she knew she had to get out of the wet clothes and into something dry.

She started to dismount, then felt herself lifted from her horse. Blissful warmth radiated from Ridge and she snuggled against his chest. Closing her eyes, Emma imagined she was back in her tipi wrapped in heavy buffalo robes.

Ridge lifted the latch and the door swung open, the force of the wind causing it to crash against the wall.

He carried Emma inside, and the near silence was eerie after the dull roar of the blizzard. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted a rough frame bed. Although it was bare and narrow, it was better than the dirt floor. He checked for mouse nests, found none, and lowered Emma to the thin mattress.

"Stay here. I'm going to get a fire going," he said to her.

She rolled onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. "So cold."

"I know. Just give me a few minutes and I'll have the place warmed up."

He went outside and moved the horses around to the lee side of the building, where he found a stack of firewood. He quickly hobbled the horses and loosened their girths. Promising to return to remove the tack, Ridge tossed Emma's saddlebags over his shoulder, then loaded his arms with wood and carried it into the cabin. He glanced at Emma who was still lying curled up on the bed—she appeared to have fallen asleep. He knelt beside the iron stove in the center of the single room. Five minutes later a fire blazed in the stove's belly.

Certain the fire had caught, he closed the stove door and rocked himself to his feet. Finding a lantern with some kerosene left in it, he lit the wick and pale yellow light filled the small cabin.

Now that he could see the room, he searched Emma's saddlebags for dry clothing. He found a skirt and blouse, but no undergarments. After a quick search of the cabin, he unearthed two old woolen blankets in a crate and laid them on the end of the bed, along with her clothing.

He debated whether to touch Emma while she was asleep, but decided it would be safe since he'd seen her knife in a saddlebag. Besides, she needed to change into dry clothing.

He shook her shoulder and she blinked blearily at him.

"You have to take off your wet clothes, Emma."

She nodded and her hands went to the buttons on her coat, but she only fumbled with them, as if she couldn't get her fingers to do what she wanted.

"Let me, Emma."

After a moment, she nodded in surrender and remained pliant as he removed her jacket, then the soaked blouse beneath it. Her damp camisole lay against her skin, so translucent Ridge could see the tan circling her peaked nipples through the cloth. He swallowed hard and ignored the undeniable charge of lust through his veins. Keeping his gaze averted, he skimmed the undergarment off and tossed it aside. He covered her naked breasts, glancing at them only once as he buttoned her blouse. Steeling his reaction to her feminine body, he removed her skirt and petticoat with the same impersonal motions and slipped on the dry skirt.

His gaze traveled to her face where he met half-lidded eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, her expression as trusting as a child's.

"You're welcome," he said, an odd lump in his throat. He eased her back down on the bed, her eyes already closing, and covered her with the dry blankets. Fighting the urge to kiss her brow, Ridge dragged a shaking hand across his forehead. Although he was tired, he was glad he still had the horses to take care of. He needed the distance from Emma to cool his hot blood.

Half an hour later, Ridge finished laying out Emma's wet clothing around the tiny cabin. He'd changed out of his damp buckskins into some men's clothes he'd found in the same box as the blankets. Although the pants were a little snug and the shirt hugged his chest, he was glad for the dry clothing.

Ridge added more wood to the fire and stretched, popping his spine in two places. Outside, the light gave way to darkness. The wind continued to blast, and the cabin creaked from the assault. Spring blizzards weren't uncommon but this one had caught him unprepared. They wouldn't be continuing their journey for a day or two, maybe longer.

Ridge considered making something to eat, but exhaustion won out. The bed looked inviting, even without Emma in it. But she was there and it wasn't proper to be lying beside a woman who wasn't your wife or a whore, even if he had seen her in her full glory.

Sighing, he laid down on the floor close to the stove and crossed his arms over his chest. He'd slept in a lot worse conditions.

Being on his own since the age of fifteen, Ridge was a light sleeper. Even the absence of sound often awakened him because of its peculiarity. This time, however, it was Emma's restlessness that woke him.

Ridge rolled to his knees beside the bed. Emma's face was damp and he rested his palm lightly on her brow. She had a slight fever.

He massaged her blanket-covered arm. "Easy, Emma."

She turned toward him, but her eyes remained closed. Her agitation eased and Ridge breathed a sigh of relief. He rose and added more wood to the fire, then laid back down on the floor.

Emma grew restive again, and Ridge debated for only a few seconds before climbing onto the narrow bed beside her. Leaving the blankets between their bodies, he lay on his back, his side touching hers.

She snuffled and rolled halfway on top of him, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder. It was sweet torture to hold her softness and feel her breasts against his chest. He was sorely tempted to skim his hands below her blouse and cup them in his palms. The cold had pebbled her nipples earlier. Would his touch do the same?

Ridge's eyes shot open. This was Emma Hartwell, a woman who trusted him with both her life and her virtue.

But what if there was no virtue to protect?

Ridge shoved his doubts aside. It didn't make any difference. He wouldn't take advantage of a good woman who'd already had a world of hurt in her life. He rested his chin on Emma's crown and focused on the blowing wind.

Within moments, he was asleep.

Chapter 8

Emma shifted in the warm cocoon as she was lured toward waking. She ignored the pull and snuggled deeper into the arms that embraced her. In fact, there was an entire wall of solid heat behind her. She smiled to herself.

An erection lay nestled against her buttocks and, caught between wakefulness and slumber, Emma pressed against familiar hardness. Desire meandered through her veins and settled in her belly. She knew it had been a long time since she'd lain with her husband. He must have been riding with a raiding party and returned last night while she'd been asleep. Unlike many warriors who were gone for days, her husband didn't awaken her to spill his seed in his wife immediately after his return. He was a considerate lover, concerned with her pleasure, too.

Through the lazy haze of passion, Emma felt the thrill of hands stroking her bare stomach and moving higher to her breasts. She tingled with need, knowing the pleasure that awaited her by joining with her husband. Rolling onto her back, Emma reached for the hem of her deerskin dress... only to encounter cotton.

Bewildered, she opened her eyes to see not Enapay, but a stranger looking down at her. She rolled away and was caught by a strong arm.

"Easy, Emma. You'll fall off the bed," the man said in a husky voice.

Memories returned.
Ridge Madoc. Traveling. The river. Icy water.

She searched the dim room, not recognizing anything, except the man lying in bed with her. "Wha—how'd we get here?"

He leaned back, placing more space between their bodies. "We rode here, remember?"

She had to think a moment. "My horse threw me into the river. You came back and then you led the way across." She shifted so she wasn't in danger of falling off the bed. "You said you knew where there was a cabin."

Ridge smiled, his teeth uncommonly white against his dark growth of whiskers. "This is it. It ain't much, but it's out of the weather."

"I'm just glad it's warm. Thank you." She glanced down, noticing her blouse was mis-buttoned and it was different than the one she'd been wearing. So was the skirt, and she wasn't wearing any undergarments. She pressed her thighs together. "Did you—?" She motioned to her clothing.

He glanced down and murmured, "You were asleep, so I dressed you in dry clothes."

Ridge levered himself off the crowded bed and Emma couldn't help but notice how snug his clothing was, especially the trousers. The material outlined his hard length. Her cheeks warm, she raised her gaze. "It seems I owe you another thank you."

Ridge knelt in front of the stove, his back to her, and opened the stove door. The fabric of his shirt threatened to split across his shoulders and hugged his firm torso down to where it was tucked into his trousers. Her body pulsed with unfulfilled passion and she wished she were brave enough to kneel behind him and wrap her arms around his lean body.

"You don't owe me anything, ma'am. It's part of the job." He added the last piece of wood.

Although his words were true, they hurt, and erased her desire completely. "I'm still indebted to you," she said lamely.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. His gaze was steady with no sign of the hunger she'd glimpsed moments earlier. "One hundred dollars worth."